Wish Gone Awry
by Jessica Jay Jackson
Summary: Life sucks when you're a mutant bird-kid on the run. Especially when you're the leader of the Flock. So when Max sees a shooting star, she makes a wish. However, sometimes what you wish for isn't what you want.
1. Chapter 1

"U and A. On the count of three." My voice is barely audible. I catch Fang's eyes and flick my own to the window high above. He nods imperceptibly. "One."

Six bird kids simultaneously whip out their wings and take flight. Fang covers his head and barrels through the window, sending shards of shattered glass flying at the mob of Erasers below, with Nudge, Iggy, and Angel hot on his heels, er, wings. I begin to follow Gazzy out the window when I see the flash of a gun.

"Gaz!" He freezes and drops a few feet. The bullet buries itself in the wall a foot away from his head. I watch another gun trailing on Gazzy and yet another being reloaded.

Looks like I'll have to do this the hard way.

I free fall towards an Eraser, picking up speed as I plummet, and kick out my feet at the last second. They land squarely in the Eraser's chest, knocking him and me to the ground and sending his gun skittering across the floor.

My wings manage to whack an Eraser in the face as I spread them for lift off. Something catches on my shirt, and next thing I know, shards of glass bite into my back as I hit the floor. I manage to get a few feet off the ground on my second attempt at lift off when a different Eraser jumps and grabs one of my legs; my ankle pops painfully as my wings take me up and his body starts to drag me down. Lucky for me, he fails to notice my other leg before it stomps decisively on his noggin. He crumples into another Eraser, but my feet have already made contact with the floor.

With the Erasers closing in, there's not enough room to spread my wings. My ankle throbs as I sprint for the only other exit: the door. Fire erupts when an Eraser tries to grab my arm and ends up raking its claws through my skin. I admit it, I cringe. A gun is fired. The bullet bounces off the floor next to my feet.

Suddenly, there seem to be another three Erasers between me and my exit. I backpedal to keep myself from running into them and turn right. More Erasers. I manage to kick up my speed a few notches. With a leap made half of faith and half of mutant bird kid, my feet clear the Erasers' heads. I almost smile to myself when my wings catch the air.

That's when everything takes a turn for the worse. On the third down stroke of my wings and already fifteen feet off the ground, two bullets whizz past me. A third passes through my side.

I fall.

It takes only two minutes for them to push me down to my knees with my arms pinned behind me. _A new record._ _For them._

I hear a laugh. "Well, well, well. What do we have here? The great Maximum Ride, in all her glory, graces us with her presence." An Eraser bearing a gun and shiny boots steps out from the crowd surrounding me. "What do you think we should do with this birdie, boys? Maybe we should cook it up and eat it for breakfast this morning—"

I can't help but break his monologue. "I'm sure I'm too tough for your taste. You prefer the easy meals, right?" I earn a hard slap to the face.

But he doesn't seem to get the whole monologue-is-such-a-waste-of-time thing. He continues, with a venomous glare towards me. I match his gaze. "Perhaps we could put it in a cage and make it sing for us—"

I almost laugh. "There are two things wrong with that theory, the first being that you definitely don't want to hear me sing, and the second being that you could never, under any circumstances, make me."

The Eraser grins crookedly and walks towards me. He takes one of my closed wings with an unnaturally strong hold and painfully stretches it out, up, and behind me so I can't see what he's doing. Nothing happens for a second, but I can feel him gliding his grimy paws over my feathers. Suddenly, he takes a handful and yanks them out. I suck in air and bite my lip so hard it starts to bleed. My wing escapes his grasp and pulls halfway into my back. The Eraser struts in front of me and dangles the feathers in my face. Tiny beads of blood drip onto the floor. At least feathers don't bleed much.

"You're going to have to try harder than that, dog breath." My voice sounds more stable than I feel. The Eraser restraining my arms clenches his hands, making my fingers go numb. I try unsuccessfully to shimmy my way out of his grasp. He holds tighter and starts digging his claws into my skin. I hiss when a nail sinks into the slashes down my arm.

That's when it occurs to me: they haven't tried to put me under yet. I haven't caught sight of any mysterious syringes or casual bulk of anesthesia-filled bottle.

The head honcho gestures to the door. "At this very moment, your precious Flock is restrained and at gunpoint outside. One wrong move and they all disappear. You didn't really think we'd be stupid enough to leave the perimeter unprotected?"

"You've proved yourself pretty dumb before." The Eraser sneers and kicks me in the stomach. My breath leaves me in a whoosh, and leaning forward puts a strain on my already aching arms.

Through my grit teeth, I spit, "Kicking the bird kid when she's already down? It's not very sportsmanship-like of you." I stop wriggling for a second. "Why don't you even the playing field a little bit? Tell your goon to let go of me, and we'll fight fair, one-on-one."

The Eraser laughs and leans in close. When he speaks, I can feel his hot breath on my face. "I don't do fair." He cups his hands and claps my ears. I can't help but scream as my ear drums burst. The Eraser's sick grin forms words I can't hear.

A door opens behind the Erasers. My heart leaps when Nudge, Gazzy, and Angel enter; it sinks lower than ever when I see the guns pointed at the base of their skulls. Tears stream down their bruised, bleeding faces. Iggy is dragged in behind them, unconscious, with blood seeping from a wound in his head and shoulder. Lastly, Fang. An Eraser holds each limb, literally carrying him through the door. His dark wings drag on the floor, leaving a trail of feathers.

The Erasers move to the sides to give me the best view possible. I feel the vibrations of laughter through the floor. Or maybe it's me shaking. They line the Flock up against the wall and force them to their knees.

They're going to execute my family.

I can't hear my own desperate cries. I shake hard enough to make the Eraser holding my arms let go. Instead, he wraps his arm around my neck in a choke hold, too tight, cutting off my air supply. I can't scream anymore. My breath comes in gasps.

I take one last look at my Flock. Angel, watery-eyed, shaking from head to toe. Gazzy, trying and failing at putting on a brave face. Nudge, her babbling stopped for once, frozen like a deer in the headlights. Iggy, awake enough now to hold himself upright, silently searching his pockets for a bomb, not finding any.

Everything stops. The lead Eraser raises his hand. I meet Fang's eyes. Dark. Perfect.

The back of my head registers the signal from the spawn of Hell.

Fang mouths one word. Next thing I know, everything else comes into painfully sharp focus as I watch my Flock die. Five bullets, each landing squarely in the chest of its victim. I scream one last, hoarse and silent time. The Eraser holding my neck tightens its grip. My vision blurs with tears and a lack of oxygen.

The last thing my brain processes before I black out is a single word. The last thing Fang ever said.

_Max._

It echoes in my head.

_Max. _

_Max. Wake up. _

_Wake up, Max. It's just a nightmare. _

_It's just a nightmare._

_Nightmare…_

_Nightmare…_

When my fumbling fingers are met with another's hand, my eyes shoot open. The first thing to register is my Flock's worried faces. The second is that my clothes are sticking to me with sweat and I taste salty tears in my hoarse mouth. The third is that I am lying under the tree I fell asleep in last night.

_I fell out of a tree._

_Again._

A silent signal cues Iggy, Nudge, Gazzy, and Angel to disperse towards their respective branches. Fang helps me sit up, but doesn't let go of my hand. We sit in comfortable silence.

When the Flock is asleep, Fang asks me, "Nightmares?" I reply with a nod. They have plagued me for almost a fortnight now, and, besides the obvious psychological impact of helplessly watching your family die in various painful ways every night, I have gotten about four hours of sleep in the past week. Now, I know the tough Maximum Ride can "go three days without sleep, food, water, or even oxygen to breathe," but something about this is different. A constant paranoia boils my stomach. My fight-or-flight instinct keeps the Flock at a standstill for three days, and then we book it across a state in the next twelve hours. Somebody is always watching me, or at least it feels like it. And not to mention that I haven't been able to sleep in a tree without falling out of it for the past five days.

All in all, I am pretty sure the Flock thinks I've bonked my head a few times too many.

Fang and I stay up the rest of the night to keep watch. I tried to get him to catch some shut-eye, but he refused, claiming that he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again anyways. I am thankful for his lie.

I start to silently muse, as is typical when intently staring at an unchanging horizon. Normal kids, at this time of year and this time of night, would be shooting off fireworks and catching fireflies, or staying up late to watch bad horror movies and shove their faces full of popcorn. Perhaps there're even some people with their eyes glued to a good ole' game of Solitaire on their computer. And although I'm happy to be free of school or work or whatever kids my age are doing these days, I can't help but feel—jealous?—of the normal people. Normal people do normal things. Mutant freaks that were raised in cages stay up all night making sure their throats aren't going to be ripped out in their sleep. Simple musings, but life would just be so much simpler—or at least, easier—if the Flock never had to go through that…ordeal.

I shake my head. No, my wings make me who I am. I have to save the world. It was just my sleep-deprived brain giving me something to think about.

Yeah. Definitely.

At some point during the night, when the moon is long gone and the sun only two hours away, a beam of light steaks across the sky. Fang doesn't notice, and I don't say anything.

I had heard somewhere that if you wish on a shooting star, then your wish will come true. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, or maybe it was my lack of sleep again, and I know the probability of anything happening is, if any, point-zero-zero-zero-zero-one percent, but…

I cross my fingers, shut my eyes, and will with my whole heart.

"I wish the School never existed."

**So ends chapter one. Comments? Questions? Ideas? Awesome quotes that need to be told to the world? Feel free to review! **

**IMPORTANT: Sorry guys, I have found that I am not a very good updater. The second chapter is already under way, so I'm definitely trying really hard to update regularly-ish this time, but...yeah. We'll see.  
**


	2. Chapter 2

When I wake up with my face in the dirt, my first thought is _When did I fall asleep?_ The second, after opening my eyes, is _Why didn't Fang wake me up before sunrise?_ And, after shooting to my feet and scanning the surrounding area, my third is _Where is the Flock?_

Nudge, the one who is usually latest getting up, is not in the tree. Iggy is not cooking breakfast (probably squirrel), and Gazzy is not helping him gather firewood. Angel isn't appeasing Total's complaints about his "delicate and pure-bred" fur needing a brush. And Fang isn't smirking at how I actually fell asleep "keeping watch."

Instead, I stand in the clearing by myself. Not only is the Flock gone, but the charred remains of last night's fire, too. I automatically expect the worse. My own body is unscathed, but that doesn't mean that they got so lucky. Great. All I need is to chase the Flock across the country because some more wacko Erasers…

I have to slam on my mental brakes. There's no way I would sleep through an ambush. Besides, there are no signs of a scuffle, no drug-induced lethargy, and the obvious fact that _I'm still here_. Unless, of course, the School took a GIANT leap in technology, hired assassin-ninjas to kidnap the Flock, and they somehow missed the very obvious winged-bird-kid completely knocked out and right next to another—captured-experiment. And although Erasers have proved themselves ridiculous numerous times, that scenario is just a little too far-fetched.

Instead, I have to think rationally. The Flock probably…just got hungry. Yeah, hunger; a typical adjective associated with mutants. We saw a town not three quarters of a mile away just before we landed; towns are usually full of food. Food, once digested, gets rid of hunger. Therefore, the Flock probably went to town. To get food. Because they were hungry.

And they left me here.

I am close to smacking myself in the forehead. Once again, my ideas prove a bit dubious. Better than my first theory, but still unbelievable.

I stand akimbo where the fire used to be, take a long look at the place where my Flock is not, and make a decision. If they're in trouble, I've got to help them. But first, I'll check the town. Maybe they really did just drop in.

So, with a final survey of my surroundings, I whip my wings open and take off towards civilization.

**~xXx~**

Twelve garbage bins, eight restaurants, and sixteen street corners later, I slink into an alley between a deli and antique furniture store and begin to pick scraps of junk out of my hair. Unless they're playing put-put or raiding someone's kitchen, they've somehow managed to get into the mall. Read: I've got to make myself look decent enough that other teenagers will accept me as "normal."

So I brush dirt and dust off my jeans and windbreaker, flip my hair, and practice my normal-teenager smile. _Here goes nothing._

The size of the Ridgehelm mall is proportionate with the size of the town. From the outside, I find thirty-six windows, five doors, and a skylight. From the inside, I find three fast

food joints, a handful of stores, and a couple beauty salons, or the like. The amount of people? Minimum. Honestly, I'm confused at first. Not only is it a half-empty mall, but the Flock is pretty smart when it comes to getting food, and when it comes to food, malls are not the best option. In fact, shopping malls are pretty much an avoid-at-all-cost scenario. Bird kids and security don't mix.

Nevertheless, without anywhere else to search for my missing feathery friends, I decide to look around a little more.

The first store I pass is filled to the brim with baubles, gadgets, and miscellaneous junk. I walk by without a second glance. The second smells like someone cleaned the carpets with cologne. Loud music blasts from the entrance. I start to walk away, but hesitate. If I don't find the Flock here, who's to say that I won't have to search elsewhere? A disguise could come in handy. Not the stupid kind, of course. I won't walk around with a trench coat and fedora or as a clown. But, as Ella taught me, a touch of that evil gloop called makeup, some over-priced designer clothing, and a bit of sparkly jewelry goes a long way. Especially when your normal clothing consists of what's practical and comfortable.

I go in.

The music and smell bombard my senses, and it takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. I find myself staring at a pair of pre-ripped jeans, wondering why anyone would pay money for jeans that wouldn't last as long. I smirk. My own jeans could pass as designer.

A familiar feeling prickles the back of my neck. _Somebody is watching me. _I whip around and find that I'm standing nose-to-nose with a face I see frequently.

"_Fang."_ The boy standing almost uncomfortably close to me (if I didn't spend the first fourteen years of my life how I did, that is) stares, not saying anything. I would have at least expected a smirk. Instead, Fang gives a full-blown, totally surprising smile, teeth and all.

"Hey. You new in town?"

"Fang? I've—" I cut myself off and drag him away from a cluster of teenagers "discreetly" whispering and pointing in our direction. I study them as I talk under my breath. "I've been looking for you all day. Where are the kids?" He stares at me, the hand gripping his arm, and the space between us.

"Sorry. Did you say something?" I huff in exasperation and raise my voice.

"Very funny, Fa—" Suddenly small details—shorter hair, cleaner skin, a definite lack of the scent associated with living on the run–snap into focus. He pulls his arm from my grasp. But his look of 'this-girl-is-wacko' swiftly melts into an expression foreign to me.

"Like I was saying earlier, my friends and I are heading to the food court. I was wondering if you would care to join us?" Another flashy smile. He gestures to the gaggle of adolescents I pulled him away from earlier.

"I…uh…" _What? _The snarky, quick-witted Maximum Ride: speechless.

"It's on me." The boy with dark hair pats his pocket, full of wallet. _Well, I can't pass on free food, can I?_ And, implausible as it may seem, maybe this Fang clone can tell me what on dear planet Earth is going on. So I plaster on what I hope is an easy, maybe flirtatious smile, and lie through my teeth.  
"Sounds fun."

**So, questions? Comments? Concerns? New year's resolutions? Hilarious Christmas get-together stories? Review! **


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